We Are Stung
by chezchuckles
Summary: Rick Castle is rescued. (A supposition of season seven). If you like, you can easily insert this into Learn to Have Been's timeline, or read it is all on its own. Title is from the poem 'Wind Sleepers' by H.D. Happy Almost Castle Monday!


**We Are Stung**

**_l_**

_Whiter_  
_than the crust_  
_left by the tide,_  
_we are stung by the hurled sand_  
_and the broken shells._

_-'The Wind Sleepers,' H.D._

_**l**_

it hurts to swallow

.

_it hurts you to swallow._

.

-hurts-

.

"Hey, there."

.

"Hurts," you croak. _It hurts to swallow._

A rush of movement, dizzying in its suddenness, and then cool fingers, damp fingers, a little sound from her that resonates in your chest somewhere and then blooms through your body as grief, drowning.

"It's okay; never mind, babe. It'll come. Want some water?"

Water.

Your throat-

"I know," she hushes. "I know. Here."

Lips are so cracked that you feel them split. And bleed. But the straw is against your tongue, a round hole, and you suck reflexively. Water spills inside you.

She takes it away. "Slowly. I'm so sorry, but slowly. Have to take it slow, Rick."

You promise with your eyes, unable to focus, and she brings it back, the taste cool and clear and slightly metallic - blood, from the weeping places in your lips. You don't mind. But you have to close your eyes though.

Just a second.

**ll**

The wash of surf across the sand. The white noise is an endlessly lapping ocean at the darkness. The tug of a breeze like fingers stroking your ear.

"Rick?"

This time you can't pull yourself up. Not even for her, how nice she is to you, not even then.

The eddies of darkness and the lull of nothing, the rhythm of waves inside your own head.

"Please."

Not even for her.

**lll**

Rush.

Shhhhh...

Hush now.

It goes more slowly than that. Slow it down.

There you go.

Try it again.

Susurration.

Ah, now you have it.

Murmur of ocean. Far off. Waves are coming in - far off - waves are falling all over themselves to get here, where you are.

The ocean plays its cacophonies outside your head, look at that, good boy, you can do it.

The ocean. The shush and shudder of waves. The ocean outside your glass house sounds so nice, if you could get there.

A hand comes down and cups over your ear and now you have it.

You've got it. You can do it.

_Open your eyes_.

**llll**

Rick is startled out of his own breath.

The moment waits on a pinhead, poised, sword of Damocles hanging over a fragile bag of bones. The ache begins in his lungs and sends pain licking along his ribs, around his back, up to his neck and shooting through his jaw and into his eyes.

It's too bright here. The light is too much.

A face obscures the disk of white and her shadow falls over him like breaking a spell. Rick sucks in a breath, released, and finds himself on the edge of panic.

She leans in, too close, and he rises up. He claws at her, dragging roughly to him until clarity pierces the fog of his instincts. A dull pain replaces the sharp, breathless one, and he sees her above him, tumbling hair and brimming eyes.

Her hands cup his face and the sound in his ears is like the ocean.

The panic crashes over him in a wave. He knocks into her arms, jerking away, scrambling up a hospital bed but his throat won't work, won't release the tight knot of rope around his neck. She falls back, drawing up into herself, removed another step, another, grief crashing in her eyes, he's going to drown-

"Kate," he rasps.

She surges forward, gathering him up, arms around him, lips to his neck, wet and fierce, her words falling over themselves to reach him.

He can't understand or hear or comprehend, but his body knows, and his arms go around her and he hangs on like she's driftwood in this ocean, clinging tightly.

"Kate," he groans.

"Yeah," she gasps. "Yeah, that's me. Oh, babe." Her fingers comb through his hair, cupping his nape, her hand stroking down his back and holding him to her and he falls over her, gasping, heaved up, finally, finally, on dry land.

"You're okay, you're okay, you're okay," she's chanting.

He can't release his arms.

He finds himself gasping, salty brine against his skin and releasing down his cheeks, and she takes it. Absorbs it into herself, mouth touching his and breathing him life.

Saved.

"Kate."


End file.
